did lift himself up and out of the focus of its effect. He was at least able to open his eyes.
Insithryllax’s head lay just a few inches beneath the surface. He twisted his head around first right then left, and saw the naga floating, her lips moving, her eyes burning at him.
He pulled together the energy for a spell of his own, feeling the power coalesce in his throat.
The naga finished her spell first, and she shot up out of the water like an arrow loosed from a bow. Insithryllax had only to lift his head above the water to trace her pathstraight up, trailing water beneath her like a wake in the sky.
She arced over the surface of the river, slithering in the air as though struggling with the sensation of flight. Insithryllax drew in a breath and roared.
The spell he’d cast augmented the already deafening sound into a physical force. The naga cringed at the sound and dipped in the air. Her tail splashed in the water then she curved back up and away, skillfully avoiding the hammerlike effect of his enhanced roar.
Insithryllax’s spell effect faded as quickly as it had manifested, and the naga slithered and twisted until she stood almost perpendicular to the surface. She shot straight up again, then turned for the far bank.
Insithryllax beat his wings once, generating great waves that crashed against the riverbank, swamping the thick vegetation.
He watched the naga fade from sight as she flew away by the power of a spell. The naga was smart enough, then, not to face him. But she was a witness. Insithryllax wondered if that would matterand if it was worth chasing her down.
With his version of a shrug the wyrm sank back into the water and followed his nose to the three-quarters of a dead naga he’d left floating in the current. When he found the body he wrapped a huge, handlike claw around it, beat his wings over and over again until they not only broke the surface but had shed most of the water that clung to them. He took to the air, shook himself dryor dry enough. His scales still glistened with river water when he turned south toward Innarlith carrying the dead naga. He cast a spell that rendered him invisible so the poor little people of that petty city-state wouldn’t come to a complete halt while they watched a dragon land in their midst.
54
1 Marpenotk, the Yearof the Banner (1368 DR) Third Quarter, Innarlith
Marek wondered at the feeling of familiarity, being in a temple where he knew he was unwelcome. Not that he was particularly unwelcome at the Cascade of Coins. Maybe it was the location, in the Third Quarter among the tradesmen and workshops.
“It could be that I’m uncomfortable with temples in general,” he said.
Pristoleph nodded, and Marek could detect at least a trace of sincere camaraderie. It was a strange sensation.
“I never had a religious upbringing,” Marek went on, “and a life of study in the Art has taught me not to rely on the whims of gods and goddesses, but to force power from the eternal Weave.”
“Careful,” Pristoleph said, pausing to sip wine from a gleaming gold cup, “that kind of talk might attract thunderbolts in a place like this.”
Marek winked and said, “I’ve risked worse.”
“Why come then?”
“It is the sort of social gathering one needs to attend,” the Thayan replied, “whether one likes it or not. I’d like to think I’m not the only one here under false pretenses.”
“Waukeen seems the type to forgive and forget,” Pristoleph said. “For the right price, anyway.” “You’re circling him,” the Red Wizard risked. “Excuse me?” “Salatis.”
Pristoleph smiled, and declined to answer directly. “So, who will you honor tonight?” Marek asked. “Wenefir?”
“Marthoon is a festival honoring guards,” Pristoleph said.
“And isn’t he-?”
“Wenefir is my friend,” Pristoleph cut in, his gaze cooling rapidly.
“Of course,” Marek replied with a curt bow. “I apologize if I suggested otherwise. I meant only that it’s well known in the city that he… looks after you.”
“As I look after him.”
“Of course,” said Marek. “Is it true that they have a dozen of these?”
Pristoleph nodded and said, “But not all in honor of guards. And you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Who are you here to honor?” Pristoleph asked. “Surely not Salatis.”
“I suppose one could say that I’m here to honor guards in general.”
“A fine answer,” said Pristoleph. “I wonder why you feel I’m circling him.”
“The priests here are calling themselves ‘Waukeenar,’” Marek said. “I could have sworn they were ‘Waukeenites.’”
“No, I think it’s always been ‘Waukeenar,’ but I could be wrong,” said Pristoleph. “Apparently I’ve been too busy circling the ransar to study church protocol.”
Marek smiled and said, “We’re all very busy, aren’t we?”
“It’s always good to have one’s day full.”
“I wonder how much more full a ransar’s day is,” Marek said. “Of course, should he find he was able to trust his friends, a certain amount of pressure could be set aside.”
“Trust?” Pristoleph asked. “Really?”
“I know it can be difficult to imagine, but let’s say that if he should decide that a new aqueduct is required, say,” Marek explained, “perhaps the ransar would trust his closest allies to make sure that the right people are allowed to supervise its construction.”
“Speaking of construction,” Pristoleph replied, his eyes roaming the space above them, “what do you call this?”
Marek followed the senator’s eyes up the length of a tall marble column. The column, and seven more just like it, supported a triangular roof that protected the wide front doors of the temple. The festivities had spilled out into the street in front of the building, and the doors had been left open and unguardedthe guards were being honored within, showered with gold and silver coins, with like sums being thrown into a deep well that served as the centerpiece of the temple proper.
“That would be a portico,” Marek replied.
“Portico…” Pristoleph repeated, as though he’d never heard the word. “I suppose it’s important to have an entrance that conveys a sense of power.”
“Indeed.”
“Why Salatis?” the senator asked.
Marek blinked at the question, and took a step backward. Pristoleph raised an eyebrow and stared at him, waiting for an answer. In order to simply have something to do while he thought, Marek laughed. Pristoleph smiled, but didn’t join him in laughing.
“It’s terrible in there, isn’t it?” Marek asked. “All the colors… it confuses the eye.”
Pristoleph glanced through the open doors at the garish decorations, rugs with intricate designs, everything gilded and overly decorated.
“I keep trying to focus on one thing,” the Thayan said.
“I think if I can pay most of my attention to one thing among many, I might be able to put up with the confusion around me.”
“But when there is so much detail,” Pristoleph said, “so many colors, and all this embarrassment of riches, it can be difficult to choose one thing worthy of attention. Certainly it’s not something that should be selected at random.”
